Divine Intervention
by WelshWitch1011
Summary: "He imagined how her body felt, wrapped tightly in his embrace; how that one simple gesture always made his heart swell with something he could only describe as love."
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Divine Intervention

**Author**: WelshWitch1011

**Pairing**: Dean/Jo

**Rating**: T (A very 'Adult' T)

Written for the lovely _**AshesatMidnight Fanfic**_ for the annual FFAA 'FAGE' fic exchange. The fabulous banner for this fic was made by the equally lovely, _**GeneralofFanfiction**_.

Prompt – _'A time travel demon with a grudge'_. (Which I took slight liberties with... I hope this is okay!)

* * *

><p>It was a strange, yet not wholly unwelcome feeling that had settled upon Dean Winchester.<p>

Though it was not a condition he remembered having previously experienced in his adult life, laying there on the old, threadbare couch, with Christmas lights twinkling in the darkness, and the sound of the fire crackling merrily beside him, Dean felt contentment wash over him.

Of course, he figured the reason for his current high spirits had little to do with the festive season, or even the slow run of recent hunts.

He knew it was undoubtedly due to the woman in his arms.

Dropping an affectionate kiss to the top of her blonde head, Dean stretched languidly and closed his eyes.

Jo grinned and released an equally content and sated sigh, murmuring in appreciation as his hand dipped below the blanket that was draped over their cooling bodies, and began a slow exploration of her skin.

"You _so_ planned this," she accused, opening her eyes to hold him in a tellingly half-hearted glare.

Dean chuckled and cast an amused gaze over toward the floor beside the fire, where a dozen or so gifts lay waiting for attention from the sheets of wrapping paper and yards of coloured ribbon that now lay abandoned at their side.

"What can I say?" Dean smirked, glancing down as Jo's fingertips lightly traced over the tattoo on his chest, "I prefer the _unwrapping._"

"Uh-huh," she nodded , giggling melodiously as he suddenly flipped them over on the couch and began to industriously pepper her neck with kisses, swirling his tongue against her skin until she writhed beneath him.

"Dean, stop... Sam will be back any second," she warned, quickly forgetting about her protest the second his lips met hers.

"Relax, Sam's on a date. He won't be back until morning," Dean argued, smiling alluringly as he nudged the tip of his nose against hers. He smirked as she slid her hand up around the back of his neck, dragging him down for another kiss.

"Mmm, I guess," she breathed, biting down on her already kiss swollen lip as his kisses began a slow descent from her neck, and his hand wandered with clear intent up her inner thigh. His warm, wet mouth enclosed around a pebbled nipple, and Jo's fingers tangled urgently in his hair as he then lavished the same attention on her other breast, devouring her body with a hunger that made her heady with desire.

Dean drew back and watched her reaction intently, and his green eyes shone with unchecked lust as his fingertips teased her sensitive flesh. His heart rate invariably began to climb as he slid a finger slowly into the tight, wet, heat of her body, and her hips arched wantonly against his hand as he curled his finger and began to rub an especially sensitive spot. Flickering the tip of his tongue into her navel, he dragged his kisses lower, grinning against her taut abdomen as he slipped a second finger inside her and she let out a high, breathy moan of approval.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Jo winced, her eyes snapping open suddenly as she withdrew her arm from around Dean's back and began to route around underneath her body.

"Jo?" Dean frowned in concern and instantly halted his ministrations, but an amused chuckle passed from his lips seconds later as she finally produced the cause of her discomfort.

She held aloft the small, plastic tape dispenser and sighed, as Dean simply smiled in relief and tossed the offending item over his shoulder.

"Okay Romeo, I think it's time we moved this upstairs," Jo stated, arching an eyebrow that left little room for disagreement. The gesture reminded Dean far too much of Ellen for him not to instantly give in to her demands, and Jo was all to aware of the power that one stony faced gesture had over him.

"We could just..." Dean began, smiling charmingly as he bit down lightly against her shoulder and eyed the path of clothes strewn across the living room floor with smug delight.

Jo intercepted his expression and she rolled her eyes as she bit back a smile of her own. "Remind me again why I married you?" She feigned a contemplative frown as she stared up at the ceiling and awaited the cocksure response she knew he would almost certainly provide.

Grinning widely, Dean lifted her left hand and stared down at the brand new, gleaming gold band that sat snugly on her finger. "Sweetheart, please. You were crushing on me from the moment we met..."

Widening her eyes in surprise, Jo nodded in apparent agreement, "When I socked you in the face, you mean?" Her smile suddenly mirrored his, and Dean bristled at the memory of her admittedly deadly right hook.

"Alright, alright," he narrowed his eyes, only able to maintain his gruff expression for a few seconds before her infectious smile shattered his façade, and he instead silenced her with a toe curling kiss.

"Mmmm, now I remember why," Jo murmured, reaching up and pressing her palm to his cheek as they exchanged adoring glances.

His expression sobering momentarily, Dean leant into her touch and brushed his lips reverently against her palm. "I know I don't say it very often, but... I love you, you know?" he said softly, peering down into the depths of her brown eyes to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

Her smile told him in no uncertain terms that she knew, and Jo bobbed her head slowly and swept the pad of her thumb over his lips. "I love..."

The sound of voices suddenly drifting from the back porch simultaneously caught their attention, and it didn't take long for both hunters to realise that Sam and his date would be walking through the door any second.

"_Crap_!" Jo's eyes widened as she surveyed the incredibly conspicuous trail of clothing, and the abandoned parcels beside the fire.

"What the hell?" Dean shook his head in confusion, leaning up to allow Jo to escape from beneath him and wrap the blanket around her body to preserve what little modesty the situation would allow. "They're on a date!"

"Well, I guess Sam isn't as big a man whore as his brother," Jo shrugged, attempting to gather up her underwear as Dean fished her red bra from beneath the Christmas tree with a distracted grin.

"Focus!" Jo snapped, slapping him lightly across the back of the head as she heard a key jamming in the lock.

Sighing in exasperation, Dean climbed to his feet and stalked toward her, hoisting her over his shoulder in a single sweeping gesture that caused a surprised shriek and giggle to catch in her throat.

"Dean!" she hissed, closing her eyes as the stair banister edged a little too close for comfort toward her head.

Landing a enthusiastic, silencing slap to her rear, Dean stomped heavily up the wooden stairs, happily reaching the top before his brother and his new girlfriend were greeted to the sight of his naked, retreating backside.

"What about the gifts?" Jo began, trying to recall if she'd gotten around to wrapping Sam's collection of gifts before Dean had offered to 'help', and begun his obviously premeditated, yet not unwelcome seduction.

"Sam won't look," Dean shrugged dismissively, opening the door to their bedroom with a flourish, before depositing her in the centre of their unmade bed.

Jo shook her head and rolled her eyes at his attitude, but as he kicked their door shut and advanced toward her wearing nothing other than a lascivious smile, she found herself quickly distracted by the insistent tug of desire in the pit of her stomach.

Tossing the pile of clothing she still held hugged to her chest, Jo heard them land with a muffled thud on the floor the second before Dean settled into her open arms.

Staring down at her lips as her arms fastened around him, Dean paused and affixed her with a strangely contemplative stare.

It had been two years and two months since Carthage, the day he had almost lost her to the vicious claws of a hell hound. The memory still weighed heavily upon him, as did the thought that Jo almost sacrificed herself to save him.

Stricken with fear, and feeling grief settle upon him he had watched her begin to slip away, a crimson pool staining the floor of the old hardware store. He grieved for the chances that were to be taken from them, and cursed himself for never having had the courage to tell her the truth; to tell her that in every dream he'd ever had about a future, she was the one beside him.

With a bomb grudgingly constructed, and the fuse pressed guiltily into her palm, their first and final kiss had been interrupted by the welcome flutter of a trench coat.

Minutes later, Castiel disappeared without so much as an attempt to reply to the numerous questions that were suddenly hurled at him. But Jo Harvelle was once again unharmed and very much alive. And to Dean and Ellen at least, that was all that truly mattered.

Contact with the celestial being had been fleeting after that, and neither parties spoke of the event, which seemed to suit them both. The hunters did not wish to relive those terrifying moments, and Dean assumed that Castiel was simply shying away from any discussion that might provoke human emotion.

That was before the war in heaven, of course; before Cas had become their enemy.

"Dean?" Jo repeated his name, smiling up at him as she gently stroked her fingertip against the frown line that had formed across the bridge of his nose, "you okay?"

Nodding his head, Dean bestowed a reassuring smile upon her. Threading his fingers through hers, he leaned down and kissed her, content to once again lose himself in her arms.

Dean Winchester was more than okay; for the first time in his life, he was happy.

x-x-x-x-x

"So, can I get you something to drink?" Sam asked nervously, walking behind the stunningly pretty brunette who he had been dating for the past month. Much to his own surprise.

"Sure," she bobbed her head, jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she allowed him to direct her toward the living room. Sam frowned as he became aware of the first impression Bobby's less than homely décor would undoubtedly provoke, but so far the young woman's smile had yet to shift.

"I'm sorry, the place hasn't been decorated for a while..." Sam began, halting as his date shook her head and her smile widened at his proceeding quip, "probably since the Kennedy administration."

"No, I like it... It's a little like my grandpa's old place, kind of homey," she stated, smiling pointedly up at him as he appeared stunned by her apparent appreciation for Bobby's less than Martha Stewart-esque efforts.

Ellen of course had plans to redecorate, knock out walls and generally spruce up the place, and though Bobby objected, the hunters all knew it was only a matter of time before the Harvelle matriarch got her way.

Of course, all the hunters also knew that Bobby and Ellen were secretly an item, but each pretended to be oblivious to the affectionate gestures and glances between the two,.

Banishing the less than palatable thoughts of Bobby engaged in any kind of dating activity from his mind, Sam shook his head absently and gestured back toward the kitchen, "A drink. Right. Sorry. Uh, we got soda, beer... I can make coffee..."

"A beer would be great, thanks," she smiled gratefully, watching Sam hurry off to the refrigerator as she made her way hesitantly towards the living room, and the promise of a warming fire.

Sam appeared behind her and handed her the chilled bottle which she accepted with a quiet 'thanks', but her soft chuckle of surprise and widened eyes quickly caught his attention.

Following her gaze to the source of her amusement, Sam groaned inwardly and offered her an apologetic smile as she took in the scattered gift wrap, ribbons and perhaps more importantly, the clothing still littering the floor.

"I'm so sorry," Sam began, stooping down as he gathered up items of Dean's clothing and a sweater he knew belonged to his equally amorous sister in law.

"My brother just got married and... and they're in some kind of... honeymoon phase and..." he paused, his statement helpfully punctuated by the sound of bed springs from above.

"Apparently," she giggled, clearing her throat as she diplomatically took a sip of beer.

Making a mental note to murder his sibling in the morning, Sam tried to dispel the blush that rose up his own cheeks and directed his date toward the nearest armchair. He perched on the edge of the couch beside her, glancing behind him uncertainly as he tried not to imagine what may or may not have happened in the spot he now sat.

"So...How's the research going?" Sam asked, hoping his ploy of changing the subject would somehow successfully distract them both from the noises that were emanating from above.

It was nice to have someone to speak to who was arguably of the same academic level for a change; it wasn't that Dean wasn't smart, but his interests definitely lay in less scholastic areas than his sibling's.

He watched as her face lit up with his question, and Sam took a moment to cast a lingering gaze over the woman beside him.

Holly Taylor was a Ph.D. student at the local college, studying parapsychology. They had met whilst gathering information on a hunt months before, but it had only been on Jo's urging, and with her less than subtle meddling, that Sam had finally called to ask Holly on a date.

Both Dean and Jo had instantly caught the attraction between the pair, yet as both appeared as socially awkward as each other, they figured they'd need a 'little push' in the right direction.

Holly was as beautiful as she was smart, with a mane of dark chestnut curls and the brightest blue eyes Sam thought he'd ever seen. They were an excellent match in every way and genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

So, despite Sam's current chagrin and less than charitable feelings toward his brother and new sister in-law, he had to admit that were it not for Jo, he and Holly would most probably have missed their chance.

Holly paused in discussing the merits of the new research labs at her facility, and dug down the side of the chair as a shred of red fabric caught her attention.

Sam's breath caught in his chest, and he turned several different shades of red as Holly held up a pair of panties that more than matched her boyfriend's current complexion.

"I am so, _so s_orry," Sam's lips pulled into a tight line, as he simply stared in horror at the lingerie.

"Hey, long as they're not yours, we're good," Holly laughed, dropping the article down onto the arm of the chair as she placed her beer down beside them and climbed to her feet.

"Uh, no," Sam grinned, finding her laughter infectious despite his abject embarrassment.

Holly paused before him and reached out her hand, and he sighed happily the second her palm kissed his.

A look of evident confusion settled upon his features as Holly pulled him to his feet, and she leant up to brush her lips against his.

Leading him wordlessly toward the stairs in the direction of his room, she answered his silent query and flashed him a mischievous smile. "You know what they say, Sam... _If you can't beat them, join them_."

x-x-x-x-x

The bounds of heaven are endless. Plains of existence where souls seek their final rest, or wait to be sent down to earth to begin their journey. Infinite heavens exist, housing whole families in surroundings a mirror image of those they inhabited on earth. Lonely lovers wait patiently, preparing the home they have built in this other world for the soul who will complete their heaven - and though they watch over them in sadness at their parting, the promise of being reunited someone dulls the sting of their tears. Years on earth pass by in little more than minutes, and the souls who are now at rest do so safe from the fears or pain that the earth inflicted upon them.

Warriors, poets, mystics and lovers, from every age since the dawn of man; an endless number of souls.

Yet God knows each one, he knows the life that he had planned for them to live. He knows the exact moment that soul will be called home, down to the very minute and second they will once again gaze upon their maker.

Which is why later on that evening, as Castiel, now self-ordained as the ruler of all creation, gazed down upon his kingdom, the sudden addition of an extra soul instantly captured his attention.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't until Dean opened his eyes the next morning that he realised something was very clearly amiss; he'd slept through the alarm again.

Despite vividly recalling untangling himself from Jo long enough to set the old alarm clock, the sunshine now intruding upon the bedroom told him it was long after the 7am wake-up call he had been grudgingly anticipating.

Stretching languidly, Dean rubbed at his eyes and rolled over toward Jo's side of the bed, and he clutched at her pillow and allowed his weary head to fall against it.

He frowned as her perfume failed to permeate his senses, and it was only the scent of his own cologne that invaded his nostrils.

But, he reasoned, Jo did admittedly prefer to use his chest as a pillow, and it was a sleeping arrangement that suited them both.

The rumble of his stomach demanded breakfast, and so he shook off all thoughts of their rather energetic and sweaty evening and grudgingly threw back the covers.

Stifling a yawn, Dean rolled over to face his night stand, and he reached out blindly toward his cell phone.

Releasing a loud groan of disapproval, he winced at the display and sat up hurriedly in bed. It was now a little after 10am, and Jo had planned a day of last minute gift shopping in Ellen and Bobby's absence, so that she might squirrel away the presents she knew her mother would undoubtedly attempt to route out.

Of course, Dean had other ideas on how they should make the most of Ellen's absence, and none of them had involved crowded stores, 'Jingle Bells' on loop, or hours spent standing in endless check out lines. But he assumed this was going to be one of those 'compromise' issues that he'd been led to believe marriage was all about, so he'd go along with it as long as Jo was happy.

He figured they'd still have that evening to themselves, and the thought – as well as the Victoria's Secret' bag he had found at the bottom of the closet – instantly brought a smile to his face and a spring to his step.

It was the little things – an unexpected kiss when his mood was low, sharing a beer out on the hood of the Impala, or her suddenly burgeoning collection of lingerie – that reminded Dean on a daily basis that in almost every way imaginable, Jo was his perfect match.

Though they bickered as they always had, and he assumed, always would, he knew beyond all certainty that there was no other woman with whom he could have been happy.

Jo was a hunter, she understood the life and, the demands and sacrifices it placed upon their relationship, yet beyond all of that, she also understood him.

She seemed to instinctively know him, dampening the anger that had once consumed him with an affectionate gesture or tender words, both of which she knew he would never allow himself to ask for.

The novelty of having a spouse, of being able to introduce her as his 'wife' had yet to tarnish, and though Jo simply rolled her eyes and smiled whenever he seized the opportunity to make the introduction, a small smile never failed to tug at her lips.

Because despite his rather colourful dating history, and the reputation he had earned as a result, it was clear to all that Dean Winchester was very much in love with his wife.

Padding heavily down the stairs, Dean tugged the t-shirt over his head and jammed one hand in the pocket of his sweat pants. The house was eerily silent, and as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he blinked in surprise at the unexpected sight that greeted him.

Leaning hunched over the table, Bobby Singer sat apparently engrossed in the book before him, his fingertips toying with the worn, age stained paper as he skimmed the obviously ancient tome. His concerned frown instantly made Dean uneasy, and as he strode into the kitchen, Dean cleared his throat to gather the older man's attention.

"When uh... when did you guys get back?" Dean asked, glancing out into the living room in search of Jo, whom he assumed would now be with Ellen.

Bobby stared up at him blankly and narrowed his eyes, "Huh?" came his not entirely eloquent reply.

Dean opened the refrigerator and reached in to grab the carton of juice, surprised to find the laden shelves now strangely bare.

An intense air of unease beginning to descend upon him, Dean folded his arms across his chest and stared analytically around the kitchen.

Realisation dawning, he suddenly cocked his head and peered off into the living room once again, blinking repeatedly as he noted the absence of the christmas tree.

Having chopped down the tree with his own two hands only a couple of days before, and decorating it at Jo's bidding with Bing Crosby in his ear and a beer in his hand, it's sudden MIA state was confusing to say the least.

"I thought you guys were staying until Sunday? You find a job out there or something?" Dean tried again. He gestured down toward the book and rubbed the back of his head, as he tried to make sense of the situation with his still sleep addled brain."Hey, you seen Jo this morning?"

Bobby leant back in his seat and his eyes were instantly upon Dean's face the second the words had left the young hunter's lips.

"_Jo_?" Bobby repeated uncertainly, earning an impatient sigh from the young man who was leaning back against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest.

"And by 'Jo', you mean..." Bobby enquired, eyeing him with an expression that Dean couldn't quite decipher. The hunter peered up unflinchingly from beneath his baseball cap, apparently waiting for him to explain further.

Dean frowned, swiping his hand over his face as he found his irritation now matching his confusion.

"Okay, does someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on around here? Where's Jo, and... and where's the God damn Christmas tree?"

Bobby followed Dean's pointed nod out toward the adjoining room, and his brows dipped further into a frown. He shook his head in abject confusion.

"Christmas tree? Dean, are you okay?" Bobby stared back at him, unblinking, diverting his gaze only momentarily toward the back door. "Sam... You wanna get in here? _Now_?"

A few short moments later, and Sam stepped dutifully into the kitchen, wiping oil stains on an old, greying dish towel as he stood before them and nodded expectantly. "What's up?"

"I'll be damned if I know," Bobby groused, noting the mounting panic that now seemed to be ghosting across the older Winchester's face, "kid comes down here talking crazy about Christmas trees, asking for Jo."

A look passed between them that Dean quickly intercepted, and his brother's suddenly somber demeanor only served to increase his panic.

Sam's lips instantly drew into a tight frown. "Jo... _Harvelle_? Dean, I..."

The tellingly melancholy inflection on her name sent a shiver up Dean's spine, and he felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest.

Dean shook his head in acute annoyance and arched an eyebrow, "You two are starting to freak me out! It's like the freakin' Twilight Zone around here." He pointed his finger accusingly at the two men, "Now, you wanna tell me where my wife is?"

"Wi..." Sam began, shaking his head as the ludicrous nature of Dean's words registered with him.

Something was clearly very, very wrong.

Instantly a hundred possibilities sprang to mind, and Sam hoped it was merely a case of a nightmare, and not the meddlings of yet another supernatural being. "Dean, are you feeling okay? You uh... you have a bad dream or something?"

After their brush with Osiris a month before, Sam had assumed this might happen. He knew Dean had yet to deal with his feelings on the subject of the blonde hunter.

Sam met Bobby's gaze, and the two men shrugged at each other before returning their collective attention to Dean, who was seemingly becoming more and more desperate by the second.

Standing up straight, Dean levelled an impatient glare at Sam. "Sammy, would you quit answering a question with a question.I'm fine, it's you two knuckle-heads acting crazy. Would you just tell me where Jo is? Where's Ellen? She with her?"

Sam's heart sank at the pleading expression and he decided to end his siblings presumedly dream induced fog with a short, sharp reality check.

"Dean, Ellen and Jo are dead, you know that." Sam spoke slowly and carefully, as if talking to a child. "Carthage... the hell hounds..." he began, frowning as Dean licked his lips nervously and began to vigorously shake his head.

"No... No," Dean widened his eyes, stepping back as he continued to shake his head in denial at his brother's claims, "Jo's fine. She was hurt bad, but Cas, he... Cas was there and he..."

A thousand memories fluttered through his mind, as Dean tried desperately to shake off the awful sinking feeling he had experienced so many other times over the years.

He clung to recollections of Jo, of things only he could know; the tiny heart-shaped birthmark on her hip, the feel of her lips, soft and yet demanding against his own - the adoration he had found reflected in her eyes, the moment his trembling hands had slipped a gold band onto her finger.

Sam stepped toward him and watched in confusion as Dean took a step back in response. His eyes were wild and glassy with terror.

"Cas wasn't there, Dean. Jo... She didn't make it. You know that. You just... You had a bad dream or something, okay? I know the whole Osiris thing screwed with your head, but you need to calm down, and just think straight." Sam held up his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

His breathing now ragged, Dean fled toward the stairs, leaving a speechless Sam and Bobby simply staring after him.

"You gonna go talk to him?" Bobby suggested, sighing at the incriminating sight of the empty Jack Daniels bottle on the counter.

The meddling of a Djinn or even a Trickster would almost be welcomed over the bleak realisation that Dean's ever increasing appetite for liquor was most probably at the heart of his current condition.

Bobby had watched the young hunter for years, silently drinking his pain away, and finding the solace and comfort that alluded him in life, in the bottom of a bottle.

It made him numb to the guilt that otherwise threatened to eat away at him, and both Bobby and Sam knew that drinking had become a necessity for the older Winchester to simply get through the day.

But then they had encountered Osiris, and Dean now appeared even more dependent on alcohol than ever before. He was intent to drink away the tragic ghost of Jo Harvelle, until his longing and regret was forever silenced by the amber liquid.

His admission of guilt over her death had shocked Sam, but then Sam knew that his brother had never accepted or dealt with Jo's loss, or the implications of the extent of his feelings for her. He had never admitted aloud that he had cared for her, and Sam wondered if perhaps closure would come with a cathartic confession of Dean's true feelings; that had things been different, Jo Harvelle might have been the one.

Sam nodded in silence, listening to the sound of heavy footfalls, and the plethora of resulting bangs and crashes from the bedroom above.

With a heavy heart, Sam made his way up the stairs, dreading the conversation he knew awaited him.

x-x-x-x-x

The drawer crashed unceremoniously against the wooden floor boards, as it was promptly joined by another, and another of it's infuriatingly empty companions.

Dean furiously examined each drawer in the dresser, desperately searching for the clothing and possessions he knew had once been housed there.

The door to the closet hung open, displaying only his few sparse clothes and bags of ammo, and Dean left a trail of open doors and splintered drawers in his wake, as he stormed like a man possessed around the room.

Failing to find any trace of the life he was certain he had been living, Dean sat down heavily on the bed. The large, rickety brass frame failed to release a squeak of protest at his weight, and a sickening dread began to rise up from the pit of his stomach.

Jo was gone, along with all her possessions and any suggestion that she had ever been beside him in the life he remembered.

Dean was faced with the dreadful acceptance that perhaps she never had been there, that his memories of her and the life they shared had been nothing more than a dream.

The absence of the silver band that had recently adorned the third finger of his left hand appeared to finally confirm his fate. Dean yanked the ring from his right hand, where it had previously sat, and twisted it slowly against the light and rolled the cool metal across the pads of his fingers.

Swallowing hard, he hurled it across the room, taking some satisfaction in the sharp clink that rang out, as it hit the floor and dropped out of sight between a gap in the boards.

Wiping a shaking hand over his face, Dean blinked against the tears that began to prick at his eyes, and he climbed to his feet devoid of hope, or purpose.

Stalking across the room, he swiped the few meager items from the top of the dresser in temper, before sending the piece of furniture crashing to the ground to lay on its side.

Gripping the bed frame in his hands, the cover laden mattress was soon flipped over and laying prostrate against the upturned frame.

The end of the comforter swept across the night stand, and the old, metal alarm clock clattered to the ground with the sharp smash of glass.

Ignoring the sound of his brother's hesitant footfalls, Dean stared down at the scene of destruction around him, his eyes affixed upon the face of the clock that dared to somehow continue ticking.

His jaw set in anger, Dean glared furiously at the goading time piece, as the second hand purposefully marked each passing second.

"Dean..."

Brushing past Sam, Dean hurriedly exited the room, and moments later, the sound of the back door slamming echoed throughout the house.

Stepping hesitantly into the bedroom, Sam wandered over toward the upturned bed, glass crunching beneath his boot. Staring down at the old clock face that had held Dean so transfixed, Sam watched the second hand as it appeared to falter to a sudden stop.

Laying there pathetically amidst the shards of glass and fragments of metal, the broken, battered clock finally stopped ticking.

x-x-x-x-x

Castiel could feel the power coursing through his body. He could feel the hum of electricity, as a whispered chorus of voices - some praising him in prayer, others cursing him in pained anguish – echoed in his ear.

Of course they knew not to who they owed such praise or disdain, yet their faith united them in a tangled cry of help and guidance, from the one they simply knew as 'God'.

Silencing the voices that rose up from the earth, Castiel moved unseen throughout the heavens, passing through infinite realities that the souls now at rest had conjured.

He paused as he came upon a trio of familiar faces, none aware of his presence. Anger suddenly gripped the deity as he cast his blue eyes upon the face of the one he knew did not belong in his kingdom. Her fate had sealed that of her mother, and they now sat side by side, dragged from the earth by an unseen hand.

Castiel knew she now had no memory or recollections save for those of her life ending in Carthage, yet he could feel the confusion and longing that was now bound to her soul.

_They _were the extra souls in his kingdom, an addition to the heavens that was not yet meant to be.

Castiel knew this, because he had saved Jo Harvelle once before - in a hardware store in Missouri.


	3. Chapter 3

x-x-x-x-x

The screen door creaked closed, as Sam made his way out onto the back porch.

Having left Dean alone with his thoughts, Sam was not the least bit surprised to find him sitting outside wearing only a t-shirt and sweatpants, the obligatory bottle of liquor clutched in his right hand.

"How do I know all of this... You... Bobby... How do I know this isn't all a dream, huh? A trickster or something? How do I know all of this bullshit isn't some pissed off demon with a grudge?" Dean wiped the traces of Jack Daniels from his lips with the back of his hand and kept his eyes trained on the horizon.

Sam shook his head in a lame attempt at formulating a response, and he simply sat down beside his brother and offered him a weak shrug. "I guess you don't," he admitted.

"Dean, you gotta believe me man, I wish things had been different. I... I know how you felt about Jo."

Dean laughed bitterly and shook his head as he peered into the depths of the bottle, and down into his only available salvation. "No. _You don't_."

"I get that you cared about her, I do," Sam pressed on undeterred, wanting his brother to realise that though Dean might not have voiced his feelings, Sam knew his sibling well enough to have seen the 'what might have been' where Jo was concerned.

"I remember everything, Sammy," Dean said quietly, his voice little more than a whisper as he sounded for all intents and purposes like a broken man. "If none of that was real, how come I remember all that stuff, huh?"

Sam puffed his cheeks out and blew out an unsteady breath, "I don't know. Our minds can come up with some pretty convincing details in dreams, Dean." He sighed as he admitted quietly, "Sometimes, I dream about Jess, and it's like she's really there with me. It feels real, like that's my life. But then I wake up and... She's gone again."

Dean appeared to digest his words, and he wiped his thumb irritably over his eyes at the tears Sam's suggestion provoked.

"No," he said determinedly, "No. I _know..." _The emotion catching up with him, Dean faltered and quickly took a swig from the bottle. "I know what she feels like in my arms, Sam, I..."

Closing his eyes, Dean tried to shake off the imagery that instantly permeated his mind, and he felt a familiar tightening enclose around his heart, as he imagined how her body felt, wrapped tightly in his embrace; how that one simple gesture always made his heart swell with something he could only describe as love.

Gesturing to the car yard around him, Dean shook his head, his lips tightening into a grimace as he considered the reality he had awoken to that was so very different to the one he had known. "None of this... None of this bullshit is real. So whatever's behind this, whoever the sick, twisted son of a bitch is that..."

"Dean," Sam interrupted, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly as it appeared his sibling was on the verge of breaking down once again.

Misery was etched all over Dean's face, as he stared down forlornly at the ground and he watched grains of dirt blow across the yard as if in a trance. The chilling winter breeze swept around the car yard with a suitably unearthly howl, and though Sam shivered against the icy chill, Dean appeared to not even notice.

"I just..." Dean began, swallowing hard as he still seemed unable and unwilling to accept that this was his world, "She made things better, you know?"

Sam nodded, wondering just how vivid Dean's dream must have been for him to have been affected by it so dramatically. Warning bells started sounding in his head, and the briefly hopeful glance Dean shot him instantly had him regretting his words when he next spoke. The last thing he wanted to do was give his sibling false hope, or allow Dean to believe he thought it any else than a cruel dream.

"What exactly happened in your... In the dream?" Sam asked carefully, watching as Dean bowed his head and grasped the neck of the bottle in his hand. The liquor rolled against the sides of the glass in waves of amber, and Sam sighed as Dean raised the bottle to his lips once again.

"It wasn't a dream, okay? I didn't just dream up two God damn years of my life. We both know I'm not that creative," Dean argued, earning a brief nod of agreement from his brother who waited for a further explanation.

"We were just... We were happy. We all were. Even you," he arched an eyebrow at Sam and shot him a wry smile. "You're dating this hot science chick, Bobby and Ellen are doing the nasty and we're all pretending not to know about it, and... There's me and Jo," he added softly, his hands visibly trembling as he blinked furiously against further tears and inhaled slowly, "I'm not lonely any more, Sam."

Dean never spoke about his feelings whilst they were on the road, he never hinted at or remotely alluded to his emotions. Yet Sam had always known that though they had each other, there was a deep longing within his brother to have the 'normal' life he had always secretly craved.

Dean wanted a home, and a family; to be able to share his hopes and dreams with another, instead of suffering the seemingly unending stream of horrors that he shared alone with his brother.

He had never admitted to loneliness, yet each time he feigned indifference or hostility toward those who lived that life, Sam saw the longing he masked behind his jokes.

The screen door opening behind them interrupted their conversation, and Bobby strode out onto the porch with a thoroughly unimpressed frown upon his features that both the brothers had come to know well, and in fact now anticipated in such circumstances.

"I hope you're planning on fixing up that mess upstairs," he folded his arms across his chest as he regarded Dean closely, and watched as the young man simply shrugged.

Sighing in obvious irritation, Bobby reached out and snatched the bottle of Jack Daniels from Dean's grasp, and he proceeded to pour the liquor out onto the ground before the first words of objection could pass Dean's lips.

"Get in the damn house, take a shower, pull it together and move on." Bobby ordered, his tone commanding and yet not unkind. "Life sucks, okay? We know that. God knows we know that better than any of the other poor bastards on this earth. But I'll be damned if I'll watch you drink yourself to death, not under my roof, you understand me? So... You get up, you find a way to move on , accept things the way they are... And you just make it through another crappy day."

"It's that easy?" Dean challenged, his jaw tensed as he stared down at his hands. Bobby laughed wryly and clamped his hand firmly around the young man's shoulder as he forced him to meet his gaze.

Shaking his head sadly, he considered all they had lost and sacrificed. Bobby replied in a tone laced with bitterness. "Kid, when have our lives ever been easy?"

x-x-x-x-x

The ladder balanced precariously against the wall of the house, shuddering with every advancing step the man took up each wooden rung.

Hoisting the tangled reel of Christmas lights further up onto his shoulder, he glanced down nervously below, and took a deep, steadying breath as he noted he was now some distance from the safety of the ground.

Melvin Greenacre, of Toledo, Ohio was fifty four years old. He was married to Connie, his high school sweetheart, and together, they had two children, three grandchildren, and two miniature schnauzers.

With retirement looming, Melvin was excitedly preparing to leave the world of accountancy behind him, and in the glove compartment of his prized red Lexus, lay the travel documents he would need to take his beloved Connie on a round the world cruise. Thirty years after they said 'I do', he would finally take her on the honeymoon he had promised her.

But Connie would never set foot on the luxurious cruise liner, because in exactly two minutes and thirty eight seconds, Melvin Walter Goodacre II was going to die.

The blonde woman stood expectantly beside the base of the ladder, unseen by the soon to be deceased, or any of the unsuspecting neighbors who passed by the front yard of the expansive suburban home.

Turning her wrist impatiently, she watched the second hand edge steadily around the dial, and she stared up at the rickety ladder with a strange sense of anticipation.

Clutching the large book to her chest, she smiled as she heard the wood groan and crack beneath the accountant's considerable weight, and a splinter of wood drifted to the ground some feet below.

"Right on time," she smiled buoyantly, no trace of regret or sympathy for the victim as she watched him ease himself up a further step and edge closer toward his destiny.

"Athropos."

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she clutched the book that little bit tighter to her chest and shot an irritated glare at the figure who now loomed before her.

"Castiel," she retorted evenly, cocking her head as she gestured up toward her victim who was now frozen into place, one foot posied to take what would ultimately be his final step. "If you don't mind, I'm a little busy here."

Castiel remained unmoved by her attitude, and as he blinked impassively, a swirl of black mist briefly clouded his irises. The leviathans stirred within him, awoken by the stench of impending death and the presence of one of the three fates. Yet Castiel managed to overcome them, hoping his task would be completed before they gained control over their all powerful host.

"What have I told you about interferring?" Athropos demanded, tapping her heeled foot against the ground as she arched a blonde eyebrow in the direction of the deity. "It's not up to angels to rewrite history Cas, I think we've had this discussion before. You're just lucky I didn't go after your precious boys, we both know they've cheated destiny more times than is allowed."

"You are mistaken, Athropos," Castiel replied, his tone belaying no trace of the threat that was to be inferred, "I am not an angel."

Laughing in wry amusement, she widened her eyes and continued on undeterred. "I thought the 'Titanic' thing was desperate, but really Cas? What is it about the Harvelle women? Why are they so important to you? You thought we wouldn't realise you went back and changed things?"

Her accusations were true. Once ordained as God, Cas had immediately set about putting right those things he considered to have been unjust or wrong.

Joanna Harvelle had indeed died that day in Carthage, and one of Castiel's first acts had been to amend that detail.

As far as Jo, or any of the other hunters were concerned, Castiel had arrived in time to heal her wounds, and neither his former angelic self, nor any of the humans involved were compelled to question the turn of events. Life went on as they assumed it had been meant to, and Cas wanted to believe that this one act someone made amends for the betrayal he had committed against his friends. But now the fates had once again interferred in his plans and undone his good deed.

"They are important to those I once considered friends," Castiel stated, beginning to walk toward her as a radiant, brilliant light seemed to seep from his skin. The young woman's mouth fell open in shock as realisation dawned upon her.

"As I stated, I am not an angel," he repeated, watching with satisfaction as Athropos dropped to her knees and bowed her head in reverence. "You have disobeyed me. I cannot allow that to happen again."

"But I..." Athropos began, gasping as she felt the book being pulled from her grasp by an invisible force. The ancient tome flew from her hands and landed on the ground, where it promptly slammed shut against prying eyes, just as it was prone to do.

"I must be allowed to do my job," she protested, her words contained in a trembled whisper that was intercepted with a small smile from the man before her. "There must be order and reason."

Upon realising that history had somehow been changed, the fates had decided that the preordained time line they had originally written must be followed as they had planned. Though not able to travel directly through time themselves, it was discovered that a simple rewriting or amendment to previous works effectively reinstated their victim's fate.

Events happened as they were meant to once again, and none of the souls involved would ever remember that their lives had been any different; because in the continual loop of space and time, it had never happened.

As if not hearing her pleas, Castiel continued on as he had intended. "I cannot allow Joanna to die again. You have forced my hand, and I must now correct your mistake as I did before."

"She was meant to die in Carthage. It was written. It was preordained. That was her fate, it cannot be undone. The life you gave her was a lie, it was never meant to be." Athropos argued, climbing to her feet where she found herself suddenly pushed back down to the ground, as Castiel raised his hand above her head.

"It is my will," Castiel replied, watching as she struggled under his thrall, and clenched her teeth at the blinding pain that radiated through her body.

"Are you not a just and merciful God?" she shouted, as a torrent of wind suddenly swirled around them, and she felt her own immortal soul begin to be torn from the fabric of her vessel.

Castiel was unmoved by her words, and he merely watched as she collapsed onto the ground, finding himself struck by the irony of the woman's current situation as she was now faced with her own mortality.

"I am a just and vengeful God. And you have disobeyed me."

"My sisters..." she began, clutching at her chest as she watched her soul begin to drift from her body on a ghostly breath.

"Are already dead," Castiel informed her, cocking his head as he regarded her with no trace of pity or sympathy. "I have no further use for you. You are released from your contract."

A scream of anguish permeated the air, drifting through the howling wind that swept up the fallen body of the young woman as she crumpled to the ground. The sockets of her eyes appeared suddenly hollow, and a flash of light sparked in their empty orbits. The body disappeared into the ether, captured in a bolt of lightening that suddenly struck the ground where she had once stood.

Stalking toward the book, Castiel picked it up in both hands and instantly the cover flew open. The words began to lift from the page, the names, dates and manner of death that the fates had so meticulously written becoming little more than a jumble of letters and numbers. They drifted in a spiral, up and away from the pages and on into the heavens.

Opening his eyes, Castiel stared down at the blank pages before him and immediately, the book began to burn. Flames licked at the leather bindings, charring the pages as the fire slowly eat away at the paper.

Satisfied that his vengeance had been met, Castiel watched the ashes drift from his hands before he too disappeared and returned to the escalating chaos of his kingdom.

Melvin Walter Goodacre II reached the top of the ladder and hung the Christmas lights as he had planned. Three months later, he and Connie embarked on their cruise.

x-x-x-x-x

Some souls are created as solitary beings, fated to live their lives alone, or simply unmatched with their perfect other. They will fall in love and live a life that might perhaps bring them joy, but it was not fated that they would do so. There is no predestined match for them, and they remain none the wiser to this detail.

Other souls are created in pairs, sent out into the world separately in the hopes that they will one day find each other. Destiny provides several instances in which they might meet, but it is up to the lovers themselves to realise the true bond that exists between them.

Some meet as intended, yet for whatever reason, fail to forge a lasting link. They perhaps overlook the gift the heavens have bestowed upon them in favour of another, less perfect love.

But there are those who live their lives side by side, cultivating a love that will last even into the eternity of the hereafter.

They are imprinted on each other's hearts, and their bonds are truly eternal, even in death.

Castiel stepped from the shadows of the dimly lit bedroom, casting his gaze around the scene of destruction that greeted him, as broken furniture lay splintered around the floor.

The solitary figure lay still in the bed, immersed in a troubled sleep that caused his breath to hitch as he murmured unintelligably into the darkness. A beer bottle lay empty on the night stand, alongside a bottle of prescription pills intended to ease the patient into a deep, prompt sleep.

Standing beside the fitfully slumbering hunter, Castiel closed his eyes and allowed himself to delve into the flickering images that so relentlessly plagued the dreamer.

"_Come on, Dean. Seriously, what's the big deal?" Jo whined, craning her head to glance back at her boyfriend as he wore a comically thoughtful expression and peered up from between narrowed eyes at the night sky._

"_I'm thinking," he assured her, continuing to stare into thin air as he deliberated providing a truthful answer, or one Jo might perhaps find more paltable. He had learned from prior experience that angering a Harvelle woman was distinctly bad for a guy's health._

"_Yeah, well don't think too hard, Dean-o," Jo teased, taking a swig of beer before leaning back against his chest and holding the bottle aloft in offering to him._

_Dean wordlessly accepted the beer, wincing as he envisioned the response his confession was undoubtedly about to receive. He returned the beer to her hand, hoping to soften the blow._

"_Okay, ball park figure... Late thirties, maybe make it an even forty." _

_Jo's hand immediately halted as the rim of the bottle was almost about to touch her lips, and she turned in his arms, both eyebrows raised and an incredulous smile on her face._

_Shrinking back slightly under the intensity of her wholly judgemental gaze, Dean shrugged. _

"_Hey, I got lonely out on the road," he smirked, tightening his arms around her waist as he nuzzled the side of her neck._

_Of course that was the truth; he had often been lonely. But the random encounters he had sought with the opposite sex had not provided comfort, they had merely been a distraction from his discontent. _

"_Lonely, or 'horny'?" Jo retorted, giggling as he punctuated her retort by nipping gently at her skin._

_The summer night air was warm and balmy, and Jo released a contented sigh as she remained happily enclosed within his arms. They watched the fireflies darting across the car yard through the twisted carcases of metal, content to be sharing the evening together under a blanket of glistening stars._

_The radio of the Impala was set to a local rock station, and the strains of a Led Zeppeling song drifted faintly through the air, alongside the rhythmic chirrup of crickets and the sound of soft kisses being brushed against her skin._

"_Forty?" Jo repeated, shaking her head at his admission, which she felt more than merited the reputation Dean Winchester had earned himself as something of a ladies man. _

_Dean nodded, and Jo felt him smile against the nape of her neck as he continued to slowly rock the porch swing they were reclining on. The swing ground to a sudden halt, and Dean arched an eyebrow in questioning. A smirk twitched at his lips, and his eyes sparkled with obvious mischief. "Wait... Do twins count as one or two?"_

_Chuckling as her elbow swiftly connected with his chest, Dean gathered her closer and began to rock them backwards and forwards once again on the creaky old swing._

"_Hey, you asked, sweetheart. I'm just being honest here," Dean pointed out, "No secrets right?"_

"_First of all, you're the one who started this whole 'magic number' thing," Jo corrected, eyeing him with feigned disdain, "and the fact you're a giant man slut was never a secret, princess." _

_She patted his cheek witheringly, snickering despite herself as his fingertips dug gently into her sides and he repeatedly pinched a particularly ticklish spot._

"_So," he grinned charmingly, waiting for her to stop slapping his hands away before dragging her back toward his chest. He propped his chin on her shoulder and folded his hands together over her abdomen. "I'm number eight, huh? Always was my lucky number."_

_Jo released a snort of amusement. "Apparently not," she remarked wryly, referring to his significantly higher number of conquests._

_Though Dean had been the one to broach the subject in a half-heartedly playful manner, Jo had been admittedly curious as to his answer. Certainly his reputation had preceeded him, and it was a reputation she now knew had been somewhat deserved._

_An easy silence descended upon them, and Dean closed his eyes as he simply allowed himself to enjoy the moment. He pressed reverent kisses down her neck as he breathed her in, and the sensation of her fingertips tracing patterns across the back of his hand prompted a sigh of contentment. Despite all the women Dean had known, it had never been like this before. _

_He could talk to Jo about anything, he wanted to tell her things that he had perhaps never even told Sam. She was a curious combination of lover and best friend, and that was something Dean had never experienced before. It was something he never wanted to lose. _

_Breaking the silence between them, Dean pressed his cheek to hers, catching the corner of her mouth with his lips until she turned to catch his gaze. "I don't want anyone else, Jo."_

_Jo appeared taken aback by the solemnity in his tone, but a smile quickly illuminated her face and she nodded in understanding before her lips found his in a tender kiss._

Castiel stepped back from the side of the bed, reminded of the one oversight the fates had not been able to predict. For although Sam and Bobby, nor anyone else in this version of reality remembered their 'other' existence, the memories Dean had forged with Jo could never be erased.

Their souls were tied, joined at the very moment of their creation, and though Athropos had determined to remove all trace of her from Dean's mind, Jo had remained in his heart.

Bowing his head in regret as he allowed himself to ponder the friendship he had once shared with the hunter, Castiel made his old friend a silent promise. Dean would never know of Castiel's involvement, or even remember the details of this tragic time line he now found himself living in.

He would never know to whom he owed his happiness, or the ends the former angel had gone to, to secure this.

The war would continue to rage in heaven, and Castiel would become their enemy once again.

Shaking the final vestiges of regret from his mind, Cas stepped back into the shadows and prepared to change history for a second time.

Moments later, he returned to Carthage; and God's will was done.


	4. Chapter 4

With a muffled groan of disapproval, Dean dodged the sunbeam slicing across his face and rolled over to shield his eyes in his pillow.

Arm outstretched at his side, he felt along the expanse of mattress, and was surprised by the empty space that greeted him.

A quick glance at the clock on the night stand informed him that it was almost 10am – a full two hours after the wake up call he had been anticipating.

Somehow, the details of this morning began to seem strangely familiar, and with his heart hammering in his chest, Dean Winchester sat bolt upright in bed and struggled to free his legs from the twisted sheets.

Memories of his dream suddenly came flooding back to him, and it was with a building sense of trepidation that he hastily pulled on his clothes and reached for the door handle.

His right hand curled around the cool metal, and he wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved or unnerved by the absence of the old silver band on his finger.

Too afraid to sweep his gaze around the room for fear of what he might not find, Dean gingerly lifted his left hand up in front of his eyes and stared down at his finger.

Throwing open the door, he stalked down the hall and began a hasty descent of the stairs, his bare feet pounding heavily against each wooden stair in turn.

A peel of familiar laughter suddenly caught his ear, and though his knees felt weak with trepidation, he hurried toward the kitchen.

Dean rounded the corner of the kitchen and almost instantly released the breath he had been holding. Smiling broadly in relief, and at his own over-reaction to a bad dream, he lingered in the doorway of the room, and leant against the door jamb.

"Hey sleeping beauty, you're just in time for waffles."

Flashing Jo an unashamedly delighted smile, not at her offering, but at her mere presence, Dean strode across the kitchen and ignored the muffled greetings he received from his fellow diners.

Sam and Holly sat side by side at the table, pouring over the morning paper as they diplomatically averted their gaze and continued on with their breakfast.

Jo sat perched on the counter top, nursing a large mug of coffee between her hands. Clad in her pyjamas, with her hair piled up in a messy pony tail, she smiled quizzically as Dean stood in front of her, and curled his hands around her thighs.

She giggled as he pulled her effortlessly toward the edge of the counter, and she set her mug down for fear of wearing the scalding hot beverage.

His mouth descended suddenly on hers, and she whimpered in surprise at the apparent urgency of his kiss.

Gathering her closer, his tongue swept against hers, and her legs locked around his waist as she found herself melting into another hungry kiss.

Jo pulled away, her brown eyes creasing through a beaming smile as she fought to get her breath back and she rested her forehead against Dean's.

"Mornin'" she laughed at his attentions, cocking an eyebrow as he simply nodded and returned her smile.

Snatching another kiss, Dean cupped her cheek in his hand, and held her bewildered gaze. Jo stared back up at him, shooting a cautious glance at Sam and his girlfriend before she spoke to her husband.

"Not that I'm complaining Dean, but are you okay?" Her fingertips wove intricate patterns across the back of his neck and he inclined his head to press his lips to her wrist.

"I am now," he nodded, hugging her tightly and resting his head against her chest. The faint traces of her perfume were comforting and familiar, and the gentle thrum of her heartbeat steadied his own raging pulse.

"I guess I just had a bad dream," Dean finally explained, smiling self-consciously as Jo slid her palm across his jaw, and swept the pad of her thumb over the shell of his ear.

"You want to talk about it?" she soothed, trying to guess the reason for his apparent nightmare. Given Dean's past, there were certainly enough opportunities for lingering night terrors.

Dean shook his head dismissively, thankful that the blur of memories he had awoken with were now lifting, and he knew all recollection of his dream would soon be gone. Already the details were blurring, and the fear and sense of loss that he had awoken to were now ebbing away.

"You hungry?" Jo asked, turning to her side and lifting a piece of waffle from her plate, which she offered to him with an encouraging smile.

"You made waffles?" Dean asked, biting enthusiastically into the syrup laden delicacy.

"Sweetheart, please, you think I'm gonna cook for you now?" Jo guffawed , rolling her eyes and gesturing with a dainty, painted pink toenail toward her brother in-law, "Sam did."

Taking the food from her hand, Dean made appropriate and well practised moans of approval, and after pressing a crumb laden kiss to Jo's cheek, he made his way over toward the table and snatched another golden waffle from atop a tower of breakfast foods.

"One day Sammy, you're gonna make someone an awesome wife," Dean remarked, earning a sigh and an eye roll from his sibling, who returned his attention to the newspaper and chose to ignore the goading comment.

"Morning, Dean," Holly laughed, absently placing her hand atop of Sam's. The gesture did not go unnoticed by the older Winchester, and Dean smiled at her in greeting, hoping her presence at the breakfast table meant the young woman was about to become a regular feature in their lives.

Sam was happier than he had been for a long time, and Dean was nothing but thrilled for his brother.

Though the threat of the war in heaven still weighed upon upon them, as did the burden and responsibility of their regular hunts, there was a definite sense of peace and contentment that had settled upon the hunters in recent months.

Laughter regularly rang out in the old, dilapidated house, and whilst loneliness and fear had once ruled their lives, Dean and Sam had started to view the future with an unprecedented sense of hope.

Jo hopped down from the counter top and pulled the sleeves of her old college sweatshirt down over her hands in protest against the cold. She paused as she spied the flickering TV screen in the living room and couldn't help but smile as she watched the opening titles of an old black and white movie.

"I love this movie!" Holly enthused, craning her neck to get a better view of the screen before she quickly climbed to her feet and hustled a bemused Sam into the living room.

Dean and Jo joined them minutes later, the former wearing an expression of utter confusion that mirrored his brother's. Jo dragged the throw from the back of the couch, and snuggled beneath it, her head resting against Dean's shoulder.

He smiled as her arm fastened around him, and his hand enclosed around hers as he stared down at her with ill-concealed wonderment. He watched her lashes flutter as she blinked, felt her chest rise and fall with every breath against his own, and he realised there and then just how Jo Harvelle had changed his life.

The two couples sat quietly, tangled in each other's arms, as the snow continued to fall outside, and the Christmas lights twinkled beguilingly from the tree.

Periodically, Dean's gaze would find his brother's, and they'd simply stare at each other as if they couldn't quite believe their luck; as if they were somehow undeserving of the life they now lived.

But gradually, Dean too became engrossed in the movie, finding something of a kindred spirit in the beleaguered figure of George Bailey, who had found his salvation in the form of love, and family.

Of course there was another parallel that Dean Winchester would never know about; that, like George, his second chance had been granted by an angel.


End file.
